


Something from Nothing from Something

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, KNBxNBA, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: For a long time, they weren’t anything, really.





	Something from Nothing from Something

**Author's Note:**

> for dw user mugenn
> 
> //mild last game spoilers alluded to, knb x nba (or general pro basketball future setting)
> 
> prompt was 'lost not broken'

For a long time, they weren’t anything, really. Friends implies a closeness they didn’t have, acquaintances a lack of knowledge or understanding of each other. Brothers--well, if they’d ever been that they sure as hell weren’t anymore. They had buried their hatchet of misunderstanding and resentment and envy, replaced it with something smoother that had felt like a lie, that there were not huge, misshapen continents of emotions between them, that the thread that had yanked Tatsuya across the ocean behind Taiga was not fraying and tangled, but short and sparkling clean. And then they’d lost the ends of it, dropped them somewhere; Taiga had gone back first, to greater things, and Tatsuya had stayed in Akita, his chance to repair whatever they no longer were vanished before he’d even bought the hammer and nails to put it back together with. 

They had occasionally sent each other messages on social media, but it had been difficult for Tatsuya to respond right away without making a big deal about how weird he’d felt. Conversation in real life has checks and balances that this doesn’t; it feels safer to let it stay, to let the time between sentences lapse, dilate like the arms of a claw machine that harmlessly swipes through the air, missing the prizes. It’s Tatsuya’s fault he feels this way; he should be happy for Taiga and not jealous of his opportunity. Taiga’s in the position to propel a prep school scholarship to a starting spot on a D-I roster, to an NCAA tournament bid, to a high place in the draft and NBA superstardom in Chicago. Tatsuya’s in the position to captain his team to a second-round exit in the Winter Cup.

He is better than he used to be of not letting his organs clench up inside of him and hating the unfairness of it all--but, were Taiga in his position, he wouldn’t begrudge Tatsuya anything. So maybe he deserves it more from a moral perspective, or maybe that’s easy to say because it lets Tatsuya hate himself more.

It’s harder to stay mad after Tatsuya walks onto a D-I team of his own. Maybe he’s grown up a little bit, or maybe it seems a little more fair from this point, or maybe he’s just too exhausted from working out all the time and pushing himself beyond his limits, trying to steal a starting spot at guard for himself. He finds himself tapping out messages to Taiga, questions whose answers he’d trust coming from Taiga first, about how he deals with the same stuff.

(He could have asked Alex, his mind reasons later, except--that was a long time ago for her, and things were different, and that’s the only reason why he hadn’t, really.)

Taiga doesn’t give him the cold shoulder. Taiga doesn’t calculate how long he should wait to respond; he just does, eager and open and in a way that stabs Tatsuya right in the diaphragm. He’s taking advantage of Taiga’s kindness with his selfishness; he’d ignored Taiga for months because it had been convenient for him, because he couldn’t fucking get over himself. 

_ We haven’t gotten together in a while...want to grab coffee soon? _

The last message pops up on the screen of Tatsuya’s laptop and sits there, like a pigeon in the kitchen, craning its neck to look at Tatsuya’s face. He can’t disappoint Taiga. It’s the least he can do.

He wants to see Taiga.

_ Sure. Let me know when you’re free. _

* * *

Taiga hugs him. The last time they’d seen each other, Tatsuya could almost fool himself into believing he’d catch up again soon, but Taiga’s got five inches on him now (at least) and is probably still growing. The feeling is weird, but the grin on Taiga’s face when he pulls away again is the same, and something settles inside Tatsuya, like a shot rolling around the rim and finally draining through.

They talk about their lives, and about basketball. It scratches the surface gently, like filed fingernails unintentionally brushing skin, nowhere near the way they used to talk, or the way they used to not have to talk. But that comparison’s unfair to their past selves and to what their relationship used to be, so Tatsuya stops himself from making it again.

Taiga still eats the way he always has, face stuffed and looking for the next thing but somehow savoring the taste and still offering Tatsuya some of his. Tatsuya takes him up on the offer,a piece of a croissant that flakes in his hands. It’s good enough to soften the guilt of slightly breaking his team-mandated nutrition plan, and when he says that Taiga smiles. 

Tatsuya finds himself still wanting to bring that smile out again, even though he should have no right. But he should have no right to be here; Taiga would have been right to not give him the chance to apologize, to throw out the chain around his neck that still peeks out from his collar any time along the way, to ignore his message, to tell him to stay away. This is not a second or third chance; it’s more like a thousandth, but Tatsuya’s not going to think about how he shouldn’t have it and instead he’s going to fucking take it.

He pays for the meal, like he always had when he was a kid, only then it wasn’t money from summer jobs but money hustled from streetball and begged off his parents and found in the couch cushions. Taiga’s got more, but Tatsuya’s the older brother, and he can afford it.

* * *

“New York’s far away,” says Taiga, like he’s sulking. 

Not like sulking, he absolutely is sulking like a cat whose owner won’t let it outside in the snow. It’s cute, but Tatsuya doesn’t laugh. He can control himself.

“Closer to Chicago than LA is,” says Tatsuya.

“Yeah, but it’s like--New York.”

“I won’t stop enjoying your deep dish pizza just because I got drafted by the Knicks.”

At this, Taiga cracks a smile. “I know. But still.”

“I could get traded,” says Tatsuya. “You could get traded, too. Sign with the Knicks in free agency—you know? Anything could happen.”

“Yeah,” says Taiga. “I guess.”

“Come on,” says Tatsuya. “Could be worse. I could be in another country. Or Sacramento.”

“That’s true,” says Taiga. Then, “I’m sorry. I am happy for you—”

“I know,” says Tatsuya. “I deserve some shit, though.”

“No you don’t,” says Taiga, so fiercely, like a brother ready to drop and defend Tatsuya’s honor from himself. “Okay?”

“Okay,” says Tatsuya.


End file.
